


Web-Lock

by silhouette (thiefless)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Female Peter Parker, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Pregnant Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Lives, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26863849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiefless/pseuds/silhouette
Summary: Kid. What does this mean?“I'm pregnant, sir,” she said, and all she could do was watch as the colour dripped off his face.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 339





	Web-Lock

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! :) It's me, back again with another fem!Peter/Tony because I literally cannot stop haha. 
> 
> The title of this fic is a kind of play on the word 'wedlock'. There may be some pregnancy inaccuracies (I tried!). Just to warn people: there is a bit in this story where Peta goes to have an abortion, so this is a pro-choice story. 
> 
> Also, Pepper/Tony broke up for definite in CW. And I'm not sure when _Endgame_ is set, so for the purposes for this story, they manage to defeat Thanos in March/April. And Tony doesn't snap. 
> 
> Anyway. That's enough rambling haha. I really hope you guys like it! :)

Once upon a time, half the universe turned to dust under the spell of a genocidal alien. Five years later, they all came back, kicked the aforementioned alien's ass so hard his army disintegrated, and celebrated. _Hard_. Namely, of the one-night stand variety. 

By complete happenstance, Peta fell pregnant. As in: a bunch of cells decided it was in her best interest to clump together, fulfilling a biological imperative she wished could have stayed unfulfilled until a time when the world wasn't so messed up.

Oh, yeah – and did she mention exactly who contributed twenty-three chromosomes to the making of this... _zygote_?

Tony Stark. 

Yep. Allow her to reiterate for those in the back: _Tony_ motherfuckin’ _Stark_ was the father of her unborn child. Her childhood hero, first crush, superhero mentor, one-night stand and, last but not least, baby daddy. 

Damn it! How the fuck was she meant to navigate this shit storm?

Well, for starters, it would probably be best to announce the pregnancy to the other human being directly linked to it. Twenty-three links worth, to be precise – not that she was counting.

And that was the story of how she ended up standing outside Mr. Stark's lake house, waiting for the man himself. 

She wasn't waiting long. The sight of him took her breath away.

Just a scant few millimetres away from the man she'd been relentlessly pining for since the very first day he plucked her from Empire State University and gifted her an upgraded Spider-Man suit, she remembered everything about that night they shared – the way he nibbled on the skin of her neck, the look in his eyes when he saw her naked, the rasp of his beard on her thighs.

Yeah. Those memories were highly problematic, and not at all conducive to a successful conversation. Adding to that, particularly not a conversation that is specifically in lieu of the ramifications of their, er, _tryst_.

God. Not even five seconds in, and this was already the most painful experience of her life. Just wait until she started talking. 

“You're probably aware of this already, but I just have to ask,” she said, phatic words tumbling out of her mouth in place of those she was still struggling to voice. “Do you know you have a llama in your garden?”

Said llama let out some kind of llama noise – a strange snort-exhale-growl hybrid that startled even Peta's spider senses. 

To her surprise, Mr. Stark only smiled. “Yes, I am aware that I have an _alpaca_.” Hm. She had the feeling he was humouring her – maybe even slightly mocking. “His name is Gerald. Don't call him a llama. He gets funny.”

“Right.” She turned to Mr. Stark's alpaca, an apologetic grimace on her mouth. “Sorry, uh, Gerald.”

Gerald didn't bequeath her a response. 

Turning back to Mr. Stark, she fixed him with an amused half-smile. “Have to say, I wouldn't have you pegged as an alpaca kind of guy. I clearly missed a lot during those five years.” She realised her mistake as soon as the words left her mouth. The tentative fragility of their relationship hinged on the fact that neither of them mentioned the Blip. Or Thanos. Or Titan. Or, y'know, space in general. 

Mr. Stark's laugh was genuine albeit strained. Tugging on his earlobe, he murmured, “Yeah. You really did.”

Shaking his head, he mustered a grin that to her eyes looked only slightly forced. “What brings you to my neck of the woods? I've already given you a tour of my humble abode.”

 _Although, the tour only extended so far as the inside of your bedroom, sir,_ Peta thought, amused.

Annoyingly, her mind flashed back to the night in question. Peta was the initiator, the aggressor, the one who kissed first. Mr. Stark was just the helpless party taken along for the ride. Their first kiss was like nothing she'd ever felt before, like a spontaneous resurrection right before a fight. 

It had also felt, bizarrely, like coming home. 

Mr. Stark had withdrawn, breathless. He had asked just one question before they started, only the one, clearly wanting to make sure they were both on the same page before he put his dick anywhere near her vagina, and Peta– 

_Well_. She made the executive decision to let this be just a simple one-night stand. A celebratory sexual union after finally vanquishing Thanos. Peta had always known she had more skin in the game; she could handle just a one-night stand. Anything – just for a taste of what being with Mr. Stark would be like. 

After her haphazard attempt at remaining easy, something in his expression shuttered, closed, grew cold to her – only for a second, mind you – and then he blinked and he was Tony Stark: The Playboy. 

Her first time was amazing; magnificent. Mr. Stark was a genius in every sense of the word, making her see stars long before he wrapped on a condom and entered her. Their sex was safe. 

Just – not safe enough, apparently.

Afterward, she had awoken to Mr. Stark's absence, and her clothes dry-cleaned and pressed, left on the bed. 

Whatever. That was enough rumination. It was time to own up to the consequences of the past, and face the future. 

Back to the present day:

_Kid. What does this mean?_

“I'm pregnant, sir,” she said, and all she could do was watch as the colour dripped off his face.

Voiceless, he became statuesque. Like she was Medusa incarnate, he turned to stone at her will.

Even as the visible signs of his struggle to compute her declaration, she carried on talking. 

“Your bun is in my oven,” she added before she could help herself, which– yeah, she was pretty fucking terrible at analogies. Mr. Stark was awesome at them, but in the wake of her huge, life-altering revelation, he was a tad busy to force-feed her one, so she was left to fend for herself. In other terms: word-vomit. Peta would word-vomit. “That didn't come out how I wanted it to, but it's also kind of true?”

Slowly, Mr. Stark nodded. Every muscle in his body was taut, strung-out on her confession, but his eyes were alive, processing the very intonation in which she delivered her news. 

“And I've never been with anyone but you,” she announced quickly, shuffling her weight from leg to leg like a game of hot potato. “Ever. So that kind of vetoes the idea that there's anybody else.” Fuck, she wasn't meant to say that. Now she sounded like a crazy, Tony Stark obsessed fangirl. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t so dissimilar from the reality, but she wasn't ready for it to be common knowledge. Particularly _not_ to the man himself. 

Peta had made the executive decision to avoid eye contact as she indirectly revealed a kind of embarrassing truth about herself, so she had no way of knowing Mr. Stark's reaction. “Right,” was all she got in response, uttered in an infuriatingly mild tone. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, for want of a better word. Doing her best to inject as much humour as she could into this mess of a situation, she joked, “C’mon. I can't be the first girl who's come to your door with an unexpected addition.” Hey, ol’ Spidey was renowned for her ill-timed quips. It was kind of her speciality. Besides completely fucking up mentor/mentee relationships, that was. 

“Clearly, my super-stupid spider DNA makes me crazy fertile, or something.” Oh, God. That was even worse. Peta had just pulled off the impossible.

 _Abort mission_. 

Mr. Stark scratched the back of his neck, pained grimace lacing his mouth at her poor euphemism. Fair enough. Peta's verbal delivery was rather subpar today. Language was a fickle mistress, prone to flights of trickery at the best of times. Coupled with a deep-seated tendency to babble needlessly when confronted with an uncomfortable situation – yeah, okay, she could see how the semantics were a little off.

However, what Mr. Stark said next rivalled Peta's own terrible communication skills – no matter what, the man was never one for half-measures.

“Well, I can pay for the abortion. Or, if you'd rather not, that is entirely your prerogative. Whatever you decide, that's fine by me. Just let me know in advance.”

_Peta.exe stopped working._

“Better still: just text me your decision,” he continued, steamrolling on in blissful ignorance of her mini-stroke. “I'm a little busy with S.I. business at the moment. Speaking of, I really should be there now.” He closed the door, turned the key, made to exit. 

Unable to compute, Peta complied with his non-verbal request and side-stepped out of his way, both parties careful not to accidentally touch. 

Distantly, she heard the father of her unborn child say something about calling a taxi, maybe asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. to call one on her behalf. Peta was still in a state of shock, and he didn't bother to stick around to help her comprehend the mess she was in. 

“That probably could have gone better,” she muttered. In the distance, she heard Gerald make a sympathetic noise.

Unbidden, the words she said back the day this whole affair started, the ones she dared utter in order to snatch even the briefest of contact from the man she'd been mooning over, rose up to the forefront of her mind. In response to his question, to his call for clarification before initiating anything risqué, she had said:

_Maybe it doesn't have to mean anything at all._

And whaddaya know? It didn't.

* * *

After much deliberation, she arrived at a verdict.

Peta was a twenty-one year old photographer who conceived a foetus after a one-night stand with a man twenty-six – no, sorry, thirty-one – years her senior. Not to mention her lifestyle, all the extra-curricular Spidey activities she liked to pursue. That wasn't a good, stable environment to raise a child in. 

Especially: raising a child _alone_. 

She made an appointment at the nearest Planned Parenthood clinic, and shot Mr. Stark a pithy little text detailing her decision. Now she could understand and respect the value of _time_ , after everything that happened. And time was of the essence.

* * *

Mr. Stark never responded. Although, did she really expect him to?

* * *

In the run-up, Peta busied herself with Jonah and the goons at the _Daily Bugle_ – a semblance of normalcy in these uncertain times. After graduating ESU shortly before the universe imploded and the world turned to shit, she had taken up Jonah's offer to work full-time at the newspaper that despised her very existence. Mr. Stark had offered to have her be his official intern at Stark Industries, but she felt that she hadn't really earned such a title. The only reason he would do such a thing was Spider-Man. Peta wanted to achieve on her own.

And then Titan happened, and yeah. Hence: reacquainting herself with the _Bugle_. 

Wow, Peta was stalling even in her internal musings – the very epitome of _procrastination_.

Soon, the day was upon her. 

Following the final victory against Thanos, and the sudden influx of humans that plopped down on Earth like spoiled supermarket food, abortion laws relaxed on an international scale. Humanity was once again vastly overpopulated – and that was just one parasitic species. Mosquitos had now returned full-force, a fact that greatly aggravated many people. 

Refusing to beat around the bush any longer, Peta headed into the abortion clinic on the day of her appointment. Five minutes early, because controlling her punctuality seemed like the one thing she could manage in this fucked-up world.

Peta had opted for the in-clinic procedure, not wanting to take any chances with her arachnid-influenced DNA, and filled in the necessary paperwork in the interim. 

The issue arose when Peta had to designate someone to be there with her after the – a task she had failed to plan around. Desperately, she wondered if she could quickly text Ned or MJ and swear them to secrecy, but before any plans were drawn up, her thoughts were interrupted. 

“Wait,” an unmistakably familiar voice said, cutting through. “Hold up. I'm here.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peta greeted breathlessly, not having expected his entrance. She figured she would be going at it alone. 

He nodded, stoic. “Kid.”

He took a seat next to her. He motioned for the papers in her hand, and she gave them to him, noticing how he accepted the direct contact from her. His penmanship was impeccable as he neatly signed his details.

Peta overheard a couple of the workers wonder if they could get a hold of the papers just to get a chance to photocopy _Tony Stark's_ signature, gossiping like a bunch of giggly high schoolers.

Without conscious thought, her hand tightened on the armrest, and she felt the material capitulate at her command. 

She felt Mr. Stark's gaze on her. “Are you okay?” he asked, so horribly kind and tender, and she knew, deep within her soul: she couldn't do this. 

Peta _fractured_ –

She leapt from her seat before the nurse even called her name, body turning blood into adrenaline. Her hands shook, her heart was rattling against her collarbone, brain urging to _run, hide, quick_ , only ceasing when she ran into a disused stairwell. 

Mr. Stark was close behind. 

“Peta, are you–?”

She turned to face him, but she still couldn't _face him_. “It wasn't ‘cause they couldn't have children,” she blurted in between bouts of breathlessness, preamble be damned. “My aunt and uncle – it wasn't ‘cause they couldn't. They decided long ago that they would be childfree.” She sniffed wetly, stifling the urge to wipe her nose like some snot-nosed teenager. “It was their choice, y'know?”

Mr. Stark remained silent, giving her his undivided attention as she spoke her piece.

“But when my parents died – they took me in. They didn't have to do that, but they did. For me. I would not be the person I am today without them.” And Peta couldn't do this. “I can't do _this_. “I'm sorry, I know it'll be easier if I did, but I can't.”

She took a deep breath, rallying every ounce of Spider-Man bravery to look Mr. Stark in the eye. “I'm going to keep this baby. But I want you to know that is my choice, and you can walk away if you want to. I won't hold it against you.” Just because Peta had a change of heart, she wasn't going to hold a gun to Mr. Stark's head. 

“I'm in,” he declared with a soft murmur. 

Peta started. “You're in?” she repeated like a dumbfounded fool. 

Mr. Stark nodded, discomfort written clear on his face, yet overlaid with honest truth. “I want to be a father to this child.” He hesitated before adding, “And I would like to be involved in the pregnancy. I want to be there for you, too.”

Peta didn't know what to say, and she ended up staring at the would-be father of her child like he'd spouted a second head. 

“Hey, I told you,” he added quietly, eyes boring into hers with soothing intensity. “Whatever you decide, that’s fine by me.”

Embarrassingly, this was when her hormones started churning into overdrive and she started to cry. 

Mr. Stark never said a word; he just calmly walked over and pulled her into his arms.

* * *

The ultrasound came the following day. She was seven weeks along by this point. Their baby would be little more than a blob. 

Mr. Stark had Helen perform the ultrasound at the re-purchased Tower. The gel was cold on her belly, colder than she thought it would be. When Helen put the wand down, and the machine started producing a visual, Peta panicked. 

“I can't look. I can't.” She turned her head violently to the side just before the image started to show. 

Cars crashed and planes fell. Half of all life was wiped out with nothing but a single snap. What if– What if something happened to their baby? What if something was _wrong_ with their baby? Her genes were unpredictable at the best of times. She couldn't face it. 

She jolted at the warmth of Mr. Stark's callused hand sliding into hers, and her eyes snapped up to his face, begging him to do this in her stead. 

Mr. Stark heeded her non-verbal request and looked for the both of them. Peta racked her eyes over every inch of his face, frantically tracking the very tiniest of movements to detect whether it was safe to look. 

His face went lax and soft. Enveloped in a breathless whisper, he said, “ _Kid_ ,” and within that, she mustered the courage to look for herself.

What she saw took her breath away. 

The baby truly was a speck on the ultrasound. She saw the heart beat, and felt her own heart beat to the same drum. She heard Mr. Stark's own jackhammer at a furious pace. 

This was _hers_ – hers and his. Amongst all the death and destruction in recent years, they had created this tiny, magnificent _life_. It was beautiful. 

Tears sprang to her eyes so fast she didn't even realise. Her throat was choked, filled with an emotion she could scarcely believe was even real. 

Helen smiled softly at their reactions. 

Their baby had been conceived slap-bang in the middle of April. Add in the two weeks from the date of her last period to mark the gestational age, and the due date would fall on 1/6/24. 

By the time their baby would scream its way into the world, Peta would be twenty-two and Mr. Stark would be fifty-three. Yeah, she didn't linger too long on the age difference. 

The conversation soon shifted into more serious territory. 

Helen explained that, due to the nature of Peta's superhuman powers, Peta would need to be monitored constantly, warning them that this was considered a high-risk pregnancy. She stressed that she didn't want to worry them, but rather to make sure they had all the facts.

“Well, that dampened the mood somewhat,” Peta joked blandly after Helen had left, leaving them with the ghost of her caution and a picture of the ultrasound. 

Mr. Stark's eye was trained on the image of their baby for a few seconds before he wrenched his head upward to look her head-on. “Do you think we should talk about our options?”

Her face must have belied her misinterpretation for his face cleared. “What's there to talk about?”

“I want this baby,” Mr. Stark was quick to clarify. “And I want this baby with you. But not at the expense of your life. I refuse.”

Peta opened her mouth to argue, but what he said next doused any sliver of opposition.

He stepped closer, left hand trembling at his side. In the most tender voice she had ever heard, Mr. Stark said, “Your life is the most precious thing in the universe to me.” 

What could she say in response to his delicate declaration? The power of language failed her. 

“I want our baby, too,” she finally managed to say, unable to directly reply to his reveal. “I can take precautions, monitor myself, keep the risk down.” She didn't realise she had phrased it like a question until she found herself on tenterhooks waiting for his verdict. 

“You'll stay with me,” he announced suddenly. “Throughout the pregnancy, and– and after. For as long as you want. That way, I can help you and monitor you and make sure both you and the baby are okay.”

His offer was generous, and Peta accepted. In spite of the gutsy bravado she liked to emulate, she was relieved she didn't have to go it alone. 

Already planning for the future, she voiced aloud a first-draft for the birth. Hey, it was always good to be prepared. She even made sure to note that he may have want for a paternity test, for reasons she could respect. At the end of day, she was only a one-night stand and despite the fact that she had never so much as kissed another person before, she could appreciate that Mr. Stark might desire further proof. Peta was just trying to see things from his perspective. 

Although, her deduction had no basis in reality for when she mentioned getting a paternity test after the birth, Mr. Stark blinked, astounded. It was a look she rarely got to admire. “Why would we need a paternity test?”

Peta frowned. “Oh, I just assumed– I mean, I thought you might want one.”

“Why? Is the paternity in question?”

“No, but.” Fuck, she really was exceptional at making a giant mess out of nothing. “Considering all you really have to go on is my word, I thought you might want...other assurances.” _Wonderful, Parker. Truly wonderful._ “I'm just saying: you could, if you want to. That's all.”

Mr. Stark stepped closer, close enough for it to be intimately suspect should anyone sneak a peek into their private lives. “Kid, I _trust_ you.” There was something sad lining the event horizon of his pupils. “That shouldn't be news to you.”

Peta didn't know what to say. 

Coughing, he dropped eye contact, turning to the side. From this angle, the cut of his jaw was all Peta could think about – her stupid pregnancy hormones were to blame. 

“Plus,” he said, turning to face her once more yet stepping back away from her. Amusement relaxed the tension that was previously stitched into his facial muscles. “You really are a dreadful liar.”

Peta gaped in mock affront. “Mr. Stark, that is an unkind thing to say to the mother of your child.” It was only a second after the words left parted lips that the reality dawned on her, stealing her breath away. 

The same was true of him. She tracked his expression as the title she had just uttered aloud – tying her to him for the rest of their lives – was absorbed into his bloodstream. She should have been anxious, nervous, but for some strange reason she wasn't. 

Peta _was_ the mother of Mr. Stark's unborn child. God, even just repeating it made her giddy, made her feel like she was floating on cloud nine. 

“Tony,” he murmured tenderly, brown eyes imbuing her with a warmth she was already addicted to. “You're carrying my baby. It's a prerequisite that people who carry my baby call me by my first name.”

An annoyingly ill-timed lump was caught in her throat, but she tried to play it off with a playful smile that bordered on flirtatious. “Oh? And are there many of us?”

 _Tony_ smiled softly, refusing to rise to her bait. “Only you.” Then, hot under his breath, so quiet her hearing struggled to catch it, “‘Cause it's always you.”

* * *

She moved in that weekend. Her old apartment was not much of an apartment to begin with, but it felt strangely sad to bid farewell to the building that had housed both before and after Titan. 

Tony helped her unpack. She didn't have much to her name to begin with – material objects would never outweigh sentimental possessions. He also helped her carry her stuff inside the lake house, though she quickly took over in that department. Even pregnant, she was far stronger than the average human.

He showed her to her room. “Here's your room. Bathroom's just down the hall.”

Grateful beyond measure, she thanked him.  
After hauling in her boxes and unloading what she could be bothered to, she decided to take a quick shower. It was a pleasant surprise, to share a communal bathroom with billionaire Tony Stark. 

_Stars – they're just like us._

Spying Tony's expensive shampoo there on the counter, she took the opportunity hand-gifted to her, and lathered her hair with his brand.

She pressed a hand still covered in his product to her still-flat belly, and paused. For a moment, she imagined the life that was thriving inside her – part Peta, part Tony. She wondered what their child would be like, who they would grow up to be. She worried if she would make a good mother. 

Under the steady stream of water, Tony's shampoo ran down her back.

* * *

As in the days of old, they had takeout for dinner. Their chat was filled with the latest scientific breakthroughs Tony personally had a hand in creating, Peta offering her own views on the matter.

Science was the perfect mediator. Their baby was the elephant in the room. 

Later, Peta found she could not sleep. She read a study once that said the first night you sleep somewhere knew, one brain hemisphere remains partly awake, alert in case of trouble. Add in superior Spider-Man senses – and yeah, there was some truth in that hypothesis.

Proving her point entirely, the early sounds of Tony's quiet distress that night drummed in her ears. In her sleep-deprived state, Peta investigated, her search leading her directly to his room. 

He was in the middle of a sleep-induced anxiety attack: sweat clinging to his hair, body thrashing under some kind of spell, breath coming far too fast for the heart to comprehend. 

He was more conscious than she first thought, for he immediately started at the light intrusion of her footsteps in his private space. 

“Kid?” he panted, eyes wild – wild and _fearful_. 

“Hey,” she whispered really lamely. “Is it alright if I come sit by you?”

Tony nodded.

Peta perched on the bed, leaving a respectable distance between them. 

“Can I touch you?” she asked, waiting for his jerky nod before she slowly embraced him. “I read this thing once that said if you hug a person for twenty seconds then your brain releases oxytocin. It might calm you down.”

He was stiff in her hold, and she was just about to withdraw, certain her affection was unwarranted and unwelcome, but then he sighed, expelling whatever tension resided in his body, collapsing into her. His forehead kissed her shoulder, hiding his face from view as he struggled to regain his breathing. 

Peta's hand started stroking through his hair without conscious thought. 

Right. This was the part where she should say something, right? She hesitated, wondering whether she should even say this, wondering if he would even respond to her words, before biting the bullet.

“You will get through this,” she murmured into his sweat-kissed hair. “I promise you. I'm right here, Tony, and I'm not going anywhere.”

His hot breath stumbled, burning through her clothes, branding into her skin. 

“I'm so proud of you,” she whispered, projecting all the admiration and adoration she felt for the man she knew was the love of her life. 

She heard the beat of his heart slow, his breathing sync with her own. 

Suddenly, he drew back, rebuilding his iron defences, too strong for her to dismantle without his express consent. 

And she didn't have it. 

“You should go back,” he said shortly, pulling away. “This isn't your responsibility. I don't need your help. This is my life and, frankly, it is none of your business.”

He couldn't even bear to look at her.

Peta surrendered without a further word spoken.

* * *

Peta left the following morning in a rush, ignoring breakfast, brain still torturing her with the previous night's events. In another words: how badly she fucked up. 

Because her life was a freakin' comedy show, Tony wasn't far behind, stalking into the kitchen with all the haughtier and confident exterior he oozed for the press and the media.

He was shielded by his glasses, and a piece of her _broke_ – Peta should never have made him feel as though he had to protect himself from her, just because she couldn't keep her stupid hands to herself. 

Tony's tone was heartbreakingly casual as he said with a lofty, “About last night...”

Determined to get out ahead of the casual dismissiveness she was bound to endure, she quickly stuttered through an obligatory, “No, no, it's fine. I am a guest in your house. I overstepped last night, and that won't happen again.” She followed up with an awkward half-smile, hoping to alleviate the strained atmosphere and wipe away Tony's forced nonchalance. 

Except, her words had the opposite effect. “Good. That's– good.” He cleared his throat; looked away. “Glad we cleared that up.”

Peta mustered a weak, slightly hysterical laugh. “Yeah,” she lied through clenched teeth – _fucking spectacular._ “I'd better shift. Jonah will have an aneurysm if I don't get these Spidey pictures to him.” At least she had a reserve of Spider-Man pictures to profit off of. Pretty soon, her belly would render any such photoshoot null and void. 

“Do you need a lift?” he offered, like a parent dropping their kid off at school. Oh, God. Was that how he saw her? Minus the whole one-night-stand shebang, obviously. 

Peta shrugged off the comparison as best she could, all but dashing to the front of the door, consciously trying to reign in her strength for the sake of their baby. 

“No, that's okay. There's a bus just up the road that'll drop me off. Thank you, though,” she added. Christ, this was awkward. She was itching to disappear. 

She opened the door, stepping outside.

“Wait, kid. Peta.” Tony was hot on her heels. 

Peta turned to face him. 

He ripped off his glasses, letting them dangle precariously in his hand as his eyes bored into hers. Vulnerability was written in every line of his face, discomfort making his leg twitch. 

“What I meant to say is: thank you.” He sniffed. “For last night. You– you really– you really helped.” Under his breath, she could have sworn he muttered, “More than you'll ever know.”

Tony gave her a key.

“And you're not just a guest,” he said solemnly. “This is your home, too. I mean,” he displaced his weight from foot to foot, discomforted. “It would mean a very great deal to me if this was your home, too.”

Heart in throat, Peta accepted his gift with shaky hands.

* * *

Peta's aunt was the first to know, the first person they spilled the beans to. 

May freaked. Understandable, Peta supposed. She had the right to be freaked out.

Happy took Tony aside. Peta never did find out the contents of that conversation. 

Peta informed Ned and MJ herself the next day.

MJ's subtlety was non-existent. “Have you never heard of the morning-after pill, or...?”

Ned kicked her shin in response. 

“Yeah, sure,” MJ retorted, rolling her eyes. “Nothing wrong with a May-December love-child.”

“I want this baby,” Peta reiterated firmly, putting her foot down. “I am having this baby.”

With a warning look to MJ, Ned told her, if she wanted this baby and this baby _with Tony,_ then they would support her. 

Peta's grin could not be contained when MJ concurred.

* * *

Soon, Peta completed her first trimester, finally conquering the monster sickness.

To celebrate her hard-earned victory, she cooked a breakfast Aunt May would be proud of. 

Chocolate and bacon. Yum. Delicious. 

(Yeah, her pregnancy cravings were still acting up. Cut her some slack.)

Tony was leaning against the jamb of the kitchen door, eyes watching her little dance about the kitchen.

“Sorry,” she said, blushing. “I'm just making breakfast.” _And dancing like a loony_. 

Tony coughed at having been caught. “You feelin’ better?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “The morning sickness is firmly behind me.” She gestured to her culinary masterpiece. “Would you care to have some?” She had made a lot.

Tony smiled, too, stepping closer. “Well, whatever the mother of my kid is having is good enough for me.”

The wave of delight that flamed through her body at hearing Tony refer to her as _the mother of my kid_ was a rush she would never get used to. 

She plopped the plate down on the table. “It's amazing.”

Tony did not look convinced. Nevertheless, he had a bite.

Five minutes later: Peta's neck was extended far into the toilet, stomach contracting painfully, Tony's hand smoothing over the knobbles of her spine, while the other was holding her hair back.

“Maybe I wasn't over the morning sickness, after all,” she surmised morosely into the bowl, immediately gagging when the act of speaking caused the stench of her own vomit to waft back up her nose. 

Tony hummed in response as she dry heaved up the remains.

* * *

Congratulations! It was a boy.

* * *

Peta was in the middle of an exceptional lecture hand-delivered by J. Jonah Jameson when she felt it. 

Popcorn. Popping in her belly. 

_Wait a minute!_

At first, she thought it was just wind. Or maybe cramp – albeit not a painful cramp. It felt... weird. 

Good weird. 

She pressed a hand to her belly as discreetly as she could manage, fingers gently stroking the area as though the baby could feel her touch through her squishy epidermis.

The baby kicked back. She felt it resonate through her palm, bouncing off of her uterus. 

Quickly, Peta excused herself. She couldn't even remember what reason she spouted for cutting Jonah's monologue short – no doubt she would be paying for it later – and she didn't care. Tony needed to feel this. 

She was running on cloud nine all the way to the Tower, hand clamped over her clothe-clad belly. The bump had barely begun to show; she must have looked an absolute idiot, grinning away at nothing.

Tony was busy with S.I. business at the Tower, yet his assistant buzzed Peta through all the same.

“Ah, kid,” he said, happy but stressed. “Sorry, I've been having to take these calls with several high-functioning morons for the past few hours, and I've still got the rest of the day to contend with.” He let out a long-suffering sigh that had her giggling. “I'm not sure how I'm going to survive this.”

Unadulterated joy shone through her tone as she replied, “I know something that'll make you feel better.”

She gently snatched his hand, pleased beyond belief when he let her manhandle him, pressing his palm flat on her belly. 

His expression grew soft.

And then–

Tony's gasp was faint – audible only for her. His jaw slackened, eyes springing up to leech the truth directly from hers. “Is that...?”

“Yeah.” Peta couldn't stop smiling. “He hasn't stopped.”

Tony let out a breathy sound, redirected his attention to the life growing inside her. His body was pressed snug up against hers, as though desperately seeking skin-on-skin contact.

“Probably should stop calling you _kid_ now that you're carrying our, y'know, kid,” he murmured breathlessly, forehead kissing her own. His hand was still soaking up the faintest of movements their son was providing in her uterus. 

Peta couldn't resist releasing a breathless chuckle of her own at the absurdity of the whole situation. “Probably.”

They were interrupted not long after. Tony shot a scathing look at the assistant who dared breach their intimate moment. Peta was too absorbed in ecstasy to care. 

Her grin refused to leave her face no matter how hard she tried. “I'll see you at home?”

Tony's own expression softened, deeply. “Yeah. See you at home,” he confirmed.

* * *

Time passed. Tony was very attentive – not just for the sake of the baby, but also for her comfort. They built the nursery, decorated it, planning and preparing for the new arrival.

“Just let me know if there's anything I can do to help,” he said. Out of the blue, he added, “You know, if my chewing annoys you, I can always eat dinner in the pantry.”

Perplexed, Peta chuckled. “Do we even have a pantry?”

It took a second to register how easily the inclusive pronoun fell from her lips: _we_. 

Tony contemplated her question. “Maybe?” 

Anyway, Peta was fine. His chewing was more than okay. She told him so herself.

That wasn't the issue.

The issue was this: their son liked to kick. Apparently, her body was creating a little footballer or something. But he craved his father's presence. Always.

Literally: _always_. 

Needless to say, sleep was becoming something of a rarity when both she and their child started experiencing withdrawal symptoms. Now, see, Peta had long since built up a tolerance in the short months she had been living with the man himself. It would take a lot more to drive her to crave him. 

Their son had no such luxury. He craved Tony 24/7. And if he didn't have Tony, he took to kicking her.

In. The. Ribs. 

That was exactly the kind of logic that drove Peta to once more seek a slumbering Tony out at night, leaning against the threshold, soaking in the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. 

“Peta?” he inquired groggily, the words clumped together in the hands of sleep. Under the covers, he straightened, becoming more responsive. “Are you alright? Is the baby okay?”

“No,” she replied like an absolute idiot. As she recognised the unadulterated panic on his face, she quickly amended, “Yes. He's fine. It's just–” fuck, this was embarrassing. Surely, it shouldn't be this embarrassing, right? All she had to do was ask Tony if she could stay with him. For God's sake, she had sex with the man. If she could do that, then she sure as hell could man up and ask him to sleep with her. In the literal sense, this time. 

“He misses you. And he kicks when he misses you. And I just thought– I mean, if I could sleep in the same room, then maybe...”

“Peta?”

“Yeah?”

“Get over here,” he commanded fondly, tilting his head to indicate his bed. 

Peta wasted no time in _getting over there._ She pictured their son giving a little leap for joy. 

Tony gently led her over to the bed. He said he would be fine sleeping on the couch, but Peta rejected that notion as soon as he had uttered it. She would not deprive him of a good night's sleep. Instead, she made the offer of sleeping on the couch which Tony vehemently refused. 

In the end, they awkwardly decided to slumber together. 

“Is this okay?” he whispered, both of them keeping to one side of the bed. 

“Yeah,” she replied. Their baby had not fussed once. 

When she awoke the following morning, she was spooned in his hold, back to his chest, his hand protectively layering over the growing bump.

* * *

They slept together every night since. 

He wasn't always there when she awoke the next day. More often than not, he wasn't. Tony Stark was a very busy man – especially given the recent climate, and the chaos and confusion that came with the restoration of half of all life. Just because his sperm fertilised her egg twenty-three weeks ago, that didn't mean the world stopped spinning on its axis. 

Recently, Stark Industries required his focus more than she did. That night, Tony had regretfully informed her that he wouldn't be back until late.

“Don't wait up for me,” had been his exact words. 

Now, Peta was more than aware as to how much space she was eating through in his bed – and in his company – so she sent him a hasty text offering him his own room back. She had definitely overstayed her welcome.

It was strange, now, having to fall asleep without his body pressed snug up against hers. Their son had grown spoilt by having Tony's attention. He refused to settle in her womb without his father. 

But she did manage to acquire a few short hours of rest in between bouts of foetal restlessness. 

It was still night when she heard Tony creeping into bed, felt his body slink up to hers under the covers, his arm laying possessive over her.

“Tony,” she mumbled, half asleep, clumsily lying a hand atop his on her stomach. She loved the feeling of his weight on her back, his warmth imbuing her with a unique comfort only he could provide. “You're here.”

Behind her, he shifted minutely, humming noncommittally. “Of course I'm here,” he murmured softly in response, words coming out directly next to her ear. “Go back to sleep.”

* * *

Peta had a fear. A striking, really terrifying kind of fear. 

There were cases – a lot of recorded cases, in fact – of people who, um, lost control of their bowels during labour. And if Tony was going to be present during _her_ labour then... then she could...

“Let me get this straight: you're afraid you're going to poop on the table.”

“It's a thing,” she said, defensively, too afraid to look him in the eye. Her face burned, but she nonetheless pressed on. “People maybe, sometimes, _occasionally_ lose control of the bowels when pushing a baby out of a tiny hole in their body.”

“Peta.” Tony interrupted her nervous spiel with a kind warmth. “You will be giving birth to my child. As in: creating actual human life. I used to lose control of my bowels after drinking far too many tequila shots.” His gaze was soft and warm, and any lingering nervousness dissipated. “There's nothing you could do that would scare me away.”

Before she could even try to convey her gratefulness, he continued with a mischievousness she hoped was a joke, “If it would make you feel any better, I wouldn't mind shitting one out myself. Seriously. Sympathy shit.”

Her laughter was wild and free and utterly untamed. “I think I'll be okay,” she said once her giggles subsided long enough for her to string together a coherent sentence. Soberly, she added, “Thank you, Tony.”

“Anytime.”

* * *

One morning, deep in the heart of her third trimester, there came a knock on the door. Tony was in the shower, so Peta waddled over to the door like a less-cute penguin to greet their visitor. 

(She was nearly eight months pregnant; her belly was the size of the _Titanic._ )

An old man was at the door. It took her a second to place the face.

Peta's breath rushed to the surface. “Brooklyn.”

Captain Steve Rogers nodded as the flood of realisation coloured her cheeks. 

Tony materialised not long after, hair still damp. Recognition loosened his face as they shook hands.

“Cap.”

“Tony.”

Tony jerked his head to the deck. “How ‘bout we take this outside?”

For early November, the air was surprisingly warm. Looked like Thanos' master plan didn't quite work on global warming. Either that, or he had severely underestimated the depths to which the human race would self-sabotage. 

It was probably the latter. 

“You have a name yet?” Captain America asked after a beat, nodding to her belly, breaking whatever momentary awkwardness that had formed between the three of them. 

Both Peta and Tony looked at each other. She didn't know about him, but she hadn't even thought about naming their son yet. 

“Not yet,” Tony answered. “Working on it.” 

Cap nodded slow, understanding. Peta got the impression she was encroaching on something she shouldn't. 

When she made to leave, testing the waters, Tony's hand gripped hers to the point of pain. “Stay,” he muttered into her ear, spoken with such conviction that she held true and stayed by his side.

In the beginning, she felt more and more like an intruder, like she was encroaching on something private and intimate – the legendary Captain America and the invincible Iron Man, talking through the events of the civil war that led to her recruitment. 

She felt... privileged. To be deemed worthy to see, to hear, such truths; to get to witness her heroes free from façades. 

As they buried the hatchet, putting all that pain and misery and strife firmly behind them. There were tears in Tony's eyes, and Peta gently placed her other hand on their conjoined ones, giving him her full support. 

Afterward, the conversation turned light – reminiscing on past Avengers missions and camaraderie, regaling her with tales of banter and of failed ploys. Peta offered Spider-Man anecdotes of her own, laughing with them. 

The sun was setting, burning the sky in bleeding orange, by the time their conversations ceased, having run their natural course. 

Peta kissed Steve on the cheek. She tried to hug but their baby made that tricky. 

Steve proffered his hand. “Goodbye, Tony.” 

Tony shook it, repeating his farewell. “See you later, Cap.”

Peta got the sense that this would be the last the world would be seeing of Captain America. Nostalgia blanketed the air around them; a decade's worth of tears and laughter, regrets and victories. 

There was a certain finality to their goodbye; an end of a glorious era.

* * *

After Steve left, Peta and Tony stayed outside for a little while longer, blissfully enjoying the tranquillity that came with the November sun. 

“So,” she broached tentatively. “I know we haven't thought about names yet, but I know a name.” She took a breath. “I'd like to name him Benjamin, after my uncle. If that's okay. It would mean a great deal to me.”

Tony shushed her with a gentle, “No, no. Of course. Ben's a good name.”

Peta grinned, and she felt tears dampen her eyes. In an effort to redirect the emotion, she asked whether he had any further naming choices.

Tony's voice was tinged with a soft, gentle, kind nostalgia as he proposed their baby's middle name: “Yinsen.”

“Benjamin Yinsen Stark,” she said, swirling the syllables around in her mouth, training her tongue. Her smile emerged with all the might of a tsunami. “I like it.”

Tony peered down at her, craning his neck at the uncomfortable angle, discombobulation marking his face. “Stark?” he repeated. “You don't want to hyphenate? Parker-Stark or Stark-Parker?”

“You make it sound like we're patenting him,” she jested, a silly, goofy smile lifting the corners of her mouth, powerless to resist. “The Parker-Stark experiment?”

Tony chuckled, smothering his amusement into her hair. Not a second later, she felt the warm pressure of his mouth kissing just above her ear. When he spoke again, his voice was baby-soft, breath tickling the nape of her neck in the cool evening air. 

“I just want to make sure you really want our child to take my name,” he murmured, as serious as she had ever heard it. “I don't want you to do this because you think that's what I want.”

She turned to face him, wanting him to analyse and dissect the honesty on her face, and appease his conscience. Her reply was calm, firm, resolute: “I'm not doing this just for you. I like Stark.” MJ would have a field day with her decision, but– there was something about their child taking Tony's name that felt _right_. It wasn't because his surname would provide their child a significant vantage point in their life. That wasn't to say that it wouldn't – of course, it would. _Stark_ would open doors that would forever remain closed to _Parker_. Still, that was only one reason. “I want our baby to have your name.”

Tony didn't know what to say in the face of her answer. Adopting a playful smile, she knocked her shoulder against his, and Tony gave her a warm, crooked smile. 

A thought came to her, then. “Listen, I,” she floundered, searching for the right manner in which to voice her concerns. “I know you went to boarding school...”

Tony's brain computed her sentence before she even finalised it. “No,” he said firmly. “No boarding school.”

“No?” Peta grinned like an idiot despite herself. “Good.” He wasn't even born yet, and she never wanted to be parted from him. 

Tony stuttered, looking completely at odds with what he was about to stay but still so determined to articulate it. “I want to be the father I wish I had growing up.”

She looked at him, skull protesting at the awkward angle, but she felt that this was a thing she should say straight to his face:

“I wouldn't want any one else to be the father of my child.”

She heard his sharp inhale, saw the way the shock dilated his pupils. He looked over at the lake, admiring the way the ephemeral light danced on the water. Peta joined him.

“And you... will make an adequate mother,” Tony joked in return, expression turning into something delicate and precious when she scoffed in good humour. He lifted a finger under her chin, urging her to look upon him much like she had done. “I've never wanted anyone else.”

Now, it was her time to be subdued by the heartfelt declaration, but she lacked the emotional capacity to say what she so wanted to. 

Leaning her head against his shoulder, she felt his own come down to rest upon hers, serenity lightening the very air around them. 

“You realise, though,” she started, vocalising the thought as it crystallised in her mind, “that between the two of us, our son's gonna have one hell of a guilt complex.”

Tony stiffened beside her, the arm around her shoulder solidifying. “Oh.”

More than a little disturbed by that notion herself, Peta nodded. “Yeah.”

“That means we'll have to teach our son some healthy coping mechanisms.”

“Of course, we'll actually have to learn some first.”

Tony's chuckle was a brief exhalation of air, one that Peta reciprocated to the fullest extent she could. 

They could do this.

* * *

They had a problem. 

Or, more specifically, _she_ had a problem. _Ben_ had a problem. 

It was the middle of December. Snow was piled high around their home; all roads were blocked with as fresh snowflakes fell aplenty. 

And Peta's waters had broken two hours ago. 

Hello, active labour. 

“But,” she sputtered, protesting, terrified to the bone. “I'm only at thirty-seven weeks.” So far in her pregnancy, she had been devoid of any complications or life-threatening ailments, and she had stupidly, _naively_ , assumed Helen's warnings were unfounded. 

God, her arrogance had come back to bite her in the ass. She only hoped it did not bite little Ben. 

She could sense Tony's fear, also, but he mustered a brave face. “I know, but we can do this. _You_ can do this.”

He had helped her into the basement. F.R.I.D.A.Y. was on standby, instructing him in checking her cervix and monitoring the length of her contractions. In another time, the idea of having Tony so close to her, uh, nether regions would have caused her to have some really intense flashbacks. But she was a little preoccupied at the moment. 

An especially vicious contraction ripped through her, highlighting all the stress and anxiety she had harboured and failed to stifle throughout her pregnancy and the mad state of the world. 

“No, no, no,” she insisted, making to sit up, rational thought no longer piloting. “Nope. I can't do this. This is stupid. I can't be a mother.”

Tony lifted his head from her cervix, anxiously trying to placate her. “Yes, you can,” he encouraged – soothing, hypnotising. He rubbed tiny little circles on her thighs, eyes warm and kind in the face of her trepidation. “You can do this. You're amazing, Peta. You're going to be a wonderful mother. Our son will be blessed to have you.”

Oh, no. She was going to say it, wasn't she? Her defences were down, labour wracking her system, and she was seriously about to say that–

With hysterical sobs making her body heave, hormones running ragged in her bloodstream, and pain suffocating her lungs, the dam burst: “Our son deserves better than a mom who pines relentlessly for his father.”

For a blissful few seconds, she hoped her babbling confession had gone unheard, lost in the tangle of a pained moan. 

Doubtless, she was asking the universe for too much.

“What?” he croaked, naked _something_ on full display in the dark of his eyes, as though his next move hinged on her answer. In that moment, he reminded her so much of a puppy. 

She buried her face in her hands – mature as ever. Sweat or tears moistened her face. She didn't want to differentiate between them just yet.

“I just– I love you,” she said, muffled. “I loved you before Titan and I loved you after Titan. That's why I propositioned you... and now I have a human skull trying to push its way out of my vagina for my sins. I just: I love you, Tony.”

“Kid...” he breathed, reduced to uttering the nickname he gave her while a kid of his own making squeezed its way out of her. _Old habits die hard._

“I know you don't feel the same way.” Her hands came apart from her face, eyes glued to the ceiling – the mark of a coward. She didn't want to hear him _say it._ “But I just wanted to be with you. I died and almost died again, and I wanted to know what it would be like to have you.”

Yep. Those were definitely tears on her skin. How embarrassing. Sensing her mental turmoil, her labour had taken a backseat, getting a front-row seat to Peta screwing this up. 

Tony came over to sit beside her. “Peta, look at me.” He took one of his discarded hands in his. 

“Please,” she begged. “Please, don't pity me through this labour. I can handle the truth.”

“Yes, you can.” He smiled, and it was like the clouds had parted, as cliché as that sentiment was. “Peta, I love you.”

The wind was kicked out of her – although, by man or baby, she had no idea. 

“Tony...”

“I love you,” he reiterated, smile transforming into a magnificent grin. “God, Peta, I love you. I thought– I thought you only wanted one night. If I had known, I would never have left.” He kissed her forehead harshly. “I promise.”

Peta opened her mouth to speak, to continue the real, actual dialogue she had only ever imagined in vivid fantasies, but little Ben had other plans. He was getting antsy. 

It was time to give birth. 

“Guess we'll have to postpone,” he said, lightly, chuckling. 

Tony assumed his previous position between her legs, seemingly ready to catch their kid. 

“Wait,” Peta panted through the pain. “You love me, and I love you.”

Tony nodded.

“So... you're telling me that all the time I've been suffering from hormonal sex cravings, we could have been fucking?”

Tony's laugh was wild and free, exhilaratingly dangling on the precipice of hysteria. “We can fuck for the next one.” 

“I'm sorry, the _next one_?” Her incredulity was rather rudely cut off as yet another contraction hit her full-force. She barely resisted screaming in pain. God. What with her enhanced healing powers and high pain tolerance, Peta thought she would be able to handle these stupid labour pains, no problem. The reality was a kick in the teeth. 

She suffered for an additional seven hours. Tony kept her hydrated, running to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water and wet her mouth with it. He truly was perfect.

Their son was perfect. Benjamin Yinsen Stark was of five pounds, eight ounces of perfect, and Peta fell in love with him on sight. The romantic confession she had just declared paled in comparison. 

Much to her delight, Tony was equally as enraptured by the baby bundled up in her arms, already feeding. Reflexively, he grasped Tony's finger in his tiny little hand and absolutely would not let go for anything. Despite being born three weeks early, he was as healthy as could be. Peta was claiming credit – her spider DNA had its benefits, she supposed. 

Tony started when F.R.I.D.A.Y. prattled off the date and time: 16th December 2023. 

Peta exchanged a look with Tony, reading his expression as he digested the fact that his son was born on the anniversary of his parents' murder. 

He looked back down at Ben, still clutching his finger, and smiled so beautifully. The image was so precious, Peta wanted to capture it for all eternity. 

Her family. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this! :)


End file.
